


Ice Is Slowly Melting

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, Self-Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen always wears expensive suits, his hair is always styled perfectly, he always eats at the same time and he seems to have no relationship. Jared notices all this, because he's in love with his boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Is Slowly Melting

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the inaugural round of [](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_masquerade**](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/) (whee!) Thank you OP for the superfun **[prompt](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/2393.html?thread=206425#t206425)** that helped me stomp the crap out of my writer's block :D

 

 

Jensen heard a noise outside his—thankfully locked—office door and froze. Figuratively, of course, as he was lashed rather tightly to his large mahogany desk.

_Was that...?_

_Surely he’d...?_

But no, there it was again. The whisper-soft sound of shoes shuffling across thick carpeting.

Who would even be at the office at midnight on a Friday night? The cleaning crew had already come and gone, Jensen knew because he had double and triple checked. Jensen was not one to miss a dotted i or a crossed t. He knew everything that happened on his floor, ran his department with an efficiency that bordered on OCD, and knew his staff respected him, even if they didn’t always _like_ him.

_Fuddy-duddy_

_Fusspot_

_Stuffed shirt_

_Stick-in-the-mud_

He’d heard them all, and had to agree, for the most part, that those words _did_ describe him. He’d been the kid who started carrying a briefcase in the third grade. He liked hospital corners on his bed and the part in his hair ruler-straight. He was punctual, competent, tidy, well-groomed, and unrepentant about his love for order. The only variation in his wardrobe of charcoal gray Armani suits was the color and pattern of his silk ties...

...one of which was currently wound around his eyes, the cool fabric wrapped and tied just so, with his usual precision, so that it wouldn’t slip off. He knew it would make more sense to purchase a specially made blindfold for his special evenings, but some thread of subversiveness, deeply buried but still present within him, enjoyed the idea of using one of his $300 ties instead.

There, dammit, he heard it again. Somebody was outside the door, rummaging through his executive assistant’s desk.

 _Oh, God._ Jensen thought he might actually die of humiliation, might actually disintegrate into a puff of dust and freckles and shame, if Jared caught him like this, cinched and secured lengthwise across his desk with a fat dildo up his ass and a decided lack of excuses for his predicament.

What the hell was Jared even _doing_ here so late at the start of the weekend?

More importantly, _was_ it Jared outside his door? He tried to twist his head to look behind him, make out Jared's elongated silhouette in the frosted privacy glass, as he did dozens of times each weekday, but of course he could see nothing behind the cloth holding his eyelids closed.

His mind cast back to a conversation they’d had several weeks ago.

_Mr. Ackles? I wanted to ask you about other positions that might be available in the company? It’s just, I’ll have my business degree in a couple of months..._

And Jensen had blown him off, hadn’t he? Annoyed by the subservient tone of Jared’s voice, irritated by the uptick at the end of his question, and supremely disgruntled at the thought of having to break in a new assistant, he’d told Jared that he needed to work a little harder, not treat his job like a 9-to-5 factory shift.

_Put forth a little more effort, Jared. Burn the midnight oil once in awhile._

And apparently, ha-ha, Jared had listened, as he always did when Jensen spoke to him. Jared’s epic crush on Jensen was a poorly kept secret around the office.

Jared, who watched Jensen move about the office with an expression of longing on his face. Jared, who was too professional to react whenever Jensen asked him to book restaurant reservations for two, but was not quite able to hide the tremor in his voice as he replied, “Yes Mr. Ackles.”

Jared, the only employee at Lehne-Morgan Consulting who currently held a key to Jensen’s office.

And...there it was, the sound he'd been dreading, a key engaging the lock of Jensen’s office door, followed quickly by the snicking sound of the door clicking open.

 

Well. Jared would untie him and Jensen would come up with... something...maybe claim an old and unbalanced boyfriend had left in the middle of a reunion fuck? Maybe claim that he'd, what, fallen into a set of grade A restraints that happened to be affixed to his desk? Well. It wouldn’t matter what he said. As soon as Jared unbuckled the Face-Banger™ penis gag and unstrapped it from his head, Jensen would come up with something. And Jared, probably twenty shades of red and stuttering embarrassment, would be sweet and soothing and wrap Jensen in a soft blanket and offer to make him a chai tea just the way he liked it, and then Jensen’s life could go back to normal...

 

...except that didn’t happen.

 

None of that happened.

 

Jensen heard an audible inhalation of breath, the quick scurrying movement of shoes across his thick pile carpet, and flinched when fingers fluttered quickly over his face and head, assessing for damage. He waited for Jared to say something, to start untying him or call the police, but instead the fingers withdrew and the silence stretched into a yawning chasm as Jensen waited and Jared did nothing.

 

And nothing.

 

And more nothing.

 

Jensen heard nothing, sensed nothing, until suddenly he felt a burning-cold block of ice placed atop his lower back, in the valley between his spine and the upswell of his buttocks.

 

And he knew he was caught.

Knew he could no longer feign abuse or assault, could no longer bat his eyelashes and sip his proffered chai tea from his clumsy but endearing assistant, not when Jared had realized that Jensen had _obviously_ embedded the means of his escape in a chunk of ice, set inside a bowl—because of course Jensen would try to avoid causing water damage to his desk—within arm’s reach of his right hand.

 

Jensen felt a pulse of humiliation, like an electrical charge, bolt from his brain down to his toes, before settling in his stiff and aching prick.

 

The ice felt like it was burning the skin on his back and he grunted, tried to twist it off of him. He was trussed pretty tightly though, ankles shackled to the desk legs on the floor, arms lashed together and tied off on the far side of the desk so his naked chest was pressed into the hard, cool wood. There was just enough overhang between the legs of his desk and the tabletop so that his hard, needy prick bobbed uselessly against the air, no matter how Jensen tried to push his pelvis forward to gain some—any—friction. A padlocked cuff bound his wrists, which had been given just enough play so that he could slowly begin to undo all his restraints only once the ice had finally melted to release the tiny silver key embedded within.

 

 

He waited for Jared’s censure, or laughter, or nervous fumbling apologies, but Jared said nothing. Then a more terrifying thought filled his head—was this even Jared?

 

It had to be, right? Who else could it be? Jensen relaxed into his restraints, willing his panic away, and concentrated on using the senses still available to him. Jensen inhaled deeply, relieved to find that the intruder bore the intoxicating combination of scents that were purely Jared, soap and spicy deodorant and candy. He let the scents calm him, relieved that whatever game Jared was playing at, Jensen at least wasn’t at the mercy of a stranger.

 

Jensen started from his thoughts when Jared picked up the chunk of ice and began running it along Jensen’s back, causing him to break out in gooseflesh. The burning-cold ice glided down his spine, caressed his butt, made its way down to the tender flesh of his inner thigh. Jensen bucked and squirmed, embarrassed and supremely turned on at the same time. Finally the ice was lifted from his body, and he heard the clink as it was set back in its bowl and then, yes, he heard the bowl being placed in his small washroom sink. On the other side of the room.

 

Realizing his escape method had been removed, Jensen flailed and thrashed against the bindings he’d so lovingly locked into place only an hour before, beginning to panic. He tried to twist and turn his head, tug the blindfold lose, but it stayed firmly in place. He tried to talk through the large dildo gag he’d strapped around his head, but his words were unintelligible.

“Shhh,” a voice suddenly whispered in his ear. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

 

It had to be Jared, could only be Jared...but he’d never heard Jared’s voice sound so dark, so low, so...aroused.

 

Footsteps circled the desk, his head was lifted by his hair and a soft hand cupped his chin. Thumbs traced around his stretched lips as the straps of the gag were thoroughly examined. Jensen waited tensely to see if the straps would be removed, if Jared was going to use his mouth, but instead his hair was released and his head lowered back down against the desk.

He strained to hear any sound at all, twisting around to determine where Jared was, when he felt the hard length of a dick trapped behind denim press right up between his spread legs, the rough fabric a delicious torment against his sensitive skin.

A soft hand caressed his naked back then, trailing the length of his spine and then cupping the round globe of his ass. The other hand traced the base of the plug he’d so thoroughly lubed and worked into himself earlier that night—that was always the first thing he did in preparation for one of his special nights.

Shame and arousal coursed through his veins in equal measure, as Jared began twisting the plug inside him, rocking it out slightly and then pressing it back in. Jensen groaned as he began shifting his hips, desperate to get some kind of friction on his neglected cock.

Jensen felt the toy pull gently at his rim until suddenly it was removed with a quick tug, leaving Jensen feeling exposed, his ass stretched and sloppy beneath Jared’s gaze. He’d never been so mortified—nor so turned on.

Thumbs circled the rim and then were sliding inside, both at once, stretching and teasing him from the inside. He tried to push back, tried to take in more, his hole aching to be filled again. The thumbs stretched him wide and then suddenly Jared was blowing on his hole, cool air caressing his slick channel, and Jensen shivered at the sensation.

 _Yes_ , he wanted to say, and _more_ , and _please_ , but the gag stayed in place.

The thumbs were removed but quickly replaced with a long, deft finger that slid easily inside him and began brushing against his prostate. Jensen moaned around the gag, bucking and shuddering, arms jerking against the wrist restraints.

He heard a dark chuckle behind him, and then the finger was removed and Jensen grunted in frustration.

He strained to hear what Jared was doing, equally aroused and scandalized at the thought that Jared was going to fuck him like this, when he heard the clasp of his leather briefcase opening.

“That’s quite a collection,” Jared said, in that sexy voice Jensen had never heard before tonight, and Jensen felt flush all over realizing that Jared had found his secret case, was probably even now looking at all the toys Jensen had bought and used on himself.

Was Jared smirking at him? Was he going to start laughing at him?

Was he going to leave him like this?

But he didn’t. Instead Jensen heard the tell-tale sound of a lube cap opening, then felt the persistent nudge of one of his own vibrators—the purple ribbed one if he wasn’t mistaken—against his opening.

The toy danced around his rim before he felt it slide home, and _fuck_ , that jackass had used the warming lube. His channel clenched as warmth spread from his ass and radiated out, and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat as Jared rocked the vibrator in and out of him before settling it snuggly to the hilt and twisting the base. When it clicked on and started massaging him from the inside, Jensen shouted into his gag, body tense against every restraint, desperately willing Jared to touch his cock. He was so close to coming, just one touch would do it...

Jared unzipped his jeans and Jensen would have thrown all his dignity out the window of his 23rd story office and begged Jared to fuck him, if he could only talk. Instead he had to listen, his body lit up with need, as Jared slicked his own cock and then began jacking himself off right there, standing between Jensen’s helpless legs. He sighed when he came, leaned heavily against Jensen for a moment as Jensen felt his come spatter across his back. He writhed and twitched and tried to will Jared with the power of his mind to touch his cock, to fuck him.

Jared began working the vibrator in and out of him again with one hand while the other traced patterns in the come drying on his back, and then finally, when Jensen thought he was on the verge of tears, Jared reached beneath him and tugged gently on his balls, and that was all Jensen needed. He’d never before come with so little external stimulation, but he cried out roughly behind his gag as his cock spurted hot come all over the side of his desk.

 _Christ, thank you_ , he thought, as he went lax in his bonds. He felt the vibrator click off and then it was gently eased from his body. He heard as though from a great distance the sounds of Jared cleaning up, washing his hands, drying them off. Water ran for a little longer than seemed necessary and then Jared was back, wiping sweat from his forehead and come from his back with a damp cloth. The last thing he did before Jensen heard the office door click closed again was press the tiny silver key, now freed from its icy prison, into his palm.

 

Monday was an agony of waiting—for Jared to laugh at him, or present him with blackmail pictures he’d taken in stealth, or turn in his resignation. But Jared did his job just as he did every day, providing Jensen with his 11a.m. cup of tea on the dot, answering his phones and managing his schedule and filling out his paperwork with the same cheerful attitude as always. There were no lewd winks or sly looks.

Jensen began to relax, and by Wednesday he was mostly able to convince himself that he’d had some sort of vivid hallucination, brought on by too much stimulation and not enough actual sex involving other people.

By Friday evening the whole incident had been mostly pushed to the back of his mind as Jensen focused on getting his team’s projections emailed off before the East Coast office closed for the weekend. So he was distractedly typing an email while waiting on hold for Mr. Lehne when Jared stuck his head in the door.

“I’m leaving for the day unless you need anything else, Mr. Ackles.”

“No, that’s fine Jared, have a good weekend.”

“Also, I was wondering if you still needed me for that special project this evening?”

Jensen paused his typing, and looked up to see Jared looking at him with an expression of complete guileless innocence. He placed the phone back in the cradle and looked at his assistant thoughtfully. Then he turned back to his computer.

“That would be fine, Jared. Same time as last week.”

“Yes, Mr. Ackles.”

“And Jared? Please be prompt.”  



End file.
